


SHIELD Man of Mystery

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Get Together, Learning to be a badass, M/M, Phil and Nick are BFFs, Phil and Nick as junior agents, Pining, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You shouldn’t believe everything you hear about Agent Coulson.  He wasn’t always the legendary agent that the junior agents believe him to be and he wasn’t always as good at his job as he is today, either.  Even the biggest badasses have to learn.</p><p>(Or, five things junior agents think they know about Agent Coulson and one thing they’d never believe.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kat8cha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat8cha/gifts).



> I want to say a giant thank you to all the people who helped me with this one: Allochthon, kultiras, SevenCorvus, dazzledfirestar, ladydeathfaerie, Henry and Yakkorat. And really, to all of Feelschat. Thanks for cheering! <3

1\.  Agent Coulson was born in a suit

Phil Coulson frowned down at his cup of coffee and tried to resist the urge to cuss out his SO.  He was still pretty new to this SHIELD business and even three months of sophisticated training didn’t change the fact that Phil was a soldier, not James Bond.  He had no idea how to impersonate a rich asshole at some swanky party, but Phil had been the only one out of his team who’d managed to catch a glimpse of the secretive arms dealer they’d been tracking so he was all they had.  Undercover wasn’t something Phil had ever felt comfortable with in his limited experience, and he _definitely_ didn’t want to be doing it while decked out in the suit R &D had bought for him that Phil was sure cost more than he used to see in a year.  Phil sighed.  SHIELD was everything he could have dreamed -- just like Nick had promised -- but there were days where he missed the familiarity of the Rangers like a missing limb.  Sighing again, Phil tugged at his tie, resisting the urge to tug it off completely and throw it over the back of his chair with his ill-fitting jacket.  He hated that suit.  Phil probably could have done what a lot of the other field agents did, which was wear combat uniforms or the stylish SHIELD tac suits, but he’d wanted to make a good impression at SHIELD where half the other agents came from Ivy League schools and careers they could actually talk about.

At the sound of someone else entering the small break room he was hiding in, Phil looked up.  When he saw who it was, he was half out of his chair before his brain caught on to the strangeness of the situation.  The woman who’d paused in the doorway was elegantly dressed, but if Phil had to guess, he’d have said she was about seventy.  Not the average age of a SHIELD agent.  For a moment, Phil just blinked, trying to work out what the woman was doing walking around SHIELD headquarters at two o’clock in the morning.

The woman arched an eyebrow.  “Let me guess,” she said dryly, her voice holding the smooth edge of a British accent.  “Army?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phil replied, still awkwardly caught between standing and sitting.

“Oh, sit down,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Phil sank back down into his chair and watched as the woman carefully made herself a cup of tea and moved to join Phil at his table.  The woman’s hair was silver and pulled back from a face that was only just beginning to show it’s age, her brown eyes sharp and knowing as she watched Phil over the rim of her cup.  “First mission outside of training?” she asked, after a moment.

“Not exactly,” Phil said, a little grudgingly at the speed with which she’d worked him out.

The woman’s lips quirked as if she wanted to smile.  Phil wasn’t sure if that was because she’d caught his irritation or the less than subtle way he’d tried to avoid answering her question.  “Not just Army then,” she said.

“Rangers,” Phil admitted.

For a moment, the woman looked impressed.  “So you’re the one everyone’s been telling me about,” she said.  “Nick Fury is already turning into somewhat of a legend around here and part of that is the foul-mouthed Ranger who is the only man Fury trusts completely.”  The woman paused again.  “You’re not what I expected.”

Phil scowled, because he’d been hearing a lot of that lately.  SHIELD material he might be, but he’d never make anyone’s perfect agent.  As long as Phil could make a difference, he didn’t particularly care, but he could deal without all the bullshit.  “Since you know who I am, it seems only fair that you introduce yourself, too,” Phil said levelly.  “Ma’am.”

The woman smiled faintly again.  “Peggy Carter,” she said, her eyes glinting with laughter when Phil blinked in surprise.  Phil had had a moment of fanboy glee when he’d realised that the woman sitting opposite him -- the same woman who had helped _Captain America_ \-- was also the one who had actually helped _build SHIELD_.  It reassured Phil that SHIELD was the place he was meant to be, no matter the comments of his fellow recruits and Nick’s irritatingly smug smile.  “And Agent Coulson?” Ms Carter continued softly.  “When I said you weren’t what I expected, that’s actually a compliment.”

Reaching into her jacket, Ms Carter pulled out a knife and before Phil could do more than blink, she’d thrown it.  It hit the doorframe with a dull thud, embedded in the wood and vibrating faintly.  “No one expects me, either,” Ms Carter said, her expression knowing.  “I may be old, but I am far from helpless.”

Phil stared at the knife for a long moment, before turning his attention back to Ms Carter.  “Call me Peggy,” she interrupted, before Phil could do more than open his mouth.  “I hate it when people call me Ms Carter.  Just because I look like an old woman, everyone seems to forget that I was a SHIELD agent before I retired.”

Phil couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face.  “And a Deputy Director,” he added.

Peggy looked amused for a moment.  “They offered me a promotion to Director, too,” she said mildly.  “But who wants to constantly deal with that much politics?  I had enough of that when I was Deputy Director.”  She paused, her eyes narrowing.  “Now, stop trying to distract me and tell me why you were glaring at your coffee as if it had personally offended you.”

Blinking, Phil absently wished he could be more like Peggy Carter one day.  “I’m being sent on my first official undercover mission the day after tomorrow,” he said, letting out a long breath.  “It’s only a short-term op, but it’s at a high society party.  I’m a Ranger.  I don’t know how to pretend to be some pampered rich guy in a suit.  Somehow, they neglected that part in my SHIELD training.”

Arching an eyebrow, Peggy looked at him.  “They do cover undercover training.  I know, because I wrote half the manual,” she said dryly.  Then she settled back into her chair.  “It’s actually surprisingly simple to get people to think you’re whoever you want them to think you are,” she said.

Phil frowned.  “Really?” he asked skeptically.

“Really,” Peggy reassured him.  “Remember back to the first time you met Nick Fury.  What did you think of him?”

The question surprised Phil and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out how to answer.  He’d known Nick for a long time.  Peggy seemed patient enough to let Phil gather his thoughts.  “The first time I met Nick?” Phil said finally.  “I thought he was going to be an asshole.”

“Are you telling me he isn’t?” Peggy replied, her eyes bright with laughter.

Phil couldn’t stop the grin that flashed across his face.  “Oh, he is,” Phil said.  “Just not in the way I was expecting.”

Peggy smiled knowingly.  “But the first time you met him, you made a judgement.  You used body language and past associations with other people to create a first impression of who he was -- one that took time to shift,” she said, before arching an eyebrow.  “And _that_ is exactly what you need to manipulate to make people think you’re a pampered rich man who has never held a gun before in his life.”

That was… that was a very sneaky idea.  Phil immediately began re-evaluating the woman sitting in front of him.  He already knew Peggy Carter was tough and smart, but he was beginning to get the idea that most people had _no idea_ just how much she was both.  Phil grinned.  “I’m beginning to understand how ‘not what you expected’ is a compliment,” he said, before letting out a long breath.  “It’s just... how exactly does that work in practice?  I know in training they mentioned posture and anticipating what people are thinking -- but I admit that most of that stopped making sense after a while.”

“I think I can help with that,” Peggy replied with a sly smile.  Then, she glanced towards the door.  Phil followed her gaze and a moment later, a tall, dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes appeared and immediately directed a frown at Peggy.  Phil attempted to bite back a smile because he knew it wouldn’t be appreciated.

“Agent Carter…” the woman began.

Peggy interrupted her with another sly smile.  “Maria, I’d like to introduce you to someone.  This is Phil Coulson, Nick Fury’s mysterious friend,” she said.  “Phil, this is Maria Hill, a junior agent who has been assigned to be my assistant for a while -- but don’t let the word ‘assistant’ fool you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Phil said seriously, because he knew that anyone Peggy Carter considered to be worth keeping as an assistant was dangerous in her own right.

Maria sent Phil an appraising look.  Phil sent her a deadpan one back, trying not to let his shoulders tighten at the sensation of being judged.  “Agent Coulson,” Maria said with a nod.

“Agent Hill,” Phil returned.

“Maria, can you please book an appointment with my tailor for tomorrow morning and then send the time and address to Phil?” Peggy said.

Phil turned to her and opened his mouth -- only to realise he had no idea what to say.  Peggy rolled her eyes.  “You’re going to need a proper suit, because firstly, that suit and shirt are awful.  They don’t fit you well at all,” she said.  “Secondly, if you’re going to carry a gun or fight in a suit, you’re going to need an expert tailor.  You can’t brawl in a suit straight off the rack and frankly, R&D can do many things, but unfortunately tailoring isn’t one of them.”

Phil blinked.  “Ah…”

“I’d just smile and say thank you, if I were you,” Maria said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.  “She’s right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Peggy said, her eyes dancing as she stood.  “Phil, I will see you later this morning, so I suggest getting some sleep.”

“Goodnight,” Phil said, still a little unsure as to what had just happened.

Peggy waved, that sly smile crossing her face again.  Then she paused, halfway to the door.  “Oh, and if Nick Fury calls either one of you my ducklings, you have my permission to smack him on the head.”

By the time Phil had figured out what to say to that, Peggy and Maria were gone.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

2\.  Agent Coulson can turn anything into a weapon

Sighing, Phil ran a hand over his face and wondered how he let himself get involved in these situations.  He’d like to blame it all on Nick, he really, _really_ would, but Phil was mature enough to know it wasn’t _entirely_ Nick’s fault.  Just mostly.

Phil was still a little hazy on the details of how he’d ended up in a cramped but thankfully clean jail cell in Twin Falls, Idaho, because somehow things had suddenly gone from a quiet drink after their mission to all out brawling.  Phil vaguely remembered Marines, a game of pool, Nick insulting someone’s parentage and then a large, beefy fist slamming into his jaw.  There was also a rather large Sheriff and a surprisingly scrappy Deputy in there somewhere.  Judging by the dull ache Phil could still feel in his jaw, he was sporting at least one fairly spectacular bruise, even if most of the pain was obscured by the jagged stabbing agony in his ribs where someone had given Phil a nasty kick with a heavy boot.

“I swear, one of these days I am going to fucking leave you to get your ass kicked and not raise a single finger to help,” Phil muttered darkly to Nick, glaring for good measure even if Nick couldn’t see it.

Thankfully for Phil’s frayed nerves, Nick had quit pacing and swearing an hour ago to sprawl across the cell’s only bed and he absently waved a hand at Phil’s words.  “I’m _serious_ ,” Phil insisted, but he had to acknowledge that his threats would carry more weight if he actually followed through with them occasionally.

“You should definitely do that,” their cell mate agreed, not even opening her eyes.

Phil didn’t really know much about Melinda May.  He knew she was a SHIELD agent, because she’d been part of their team on their last mission, but she didn’t talk much and kept mostly to herself.  Phil thought it was probably more bad luck than anything else on her part that she’d been caught up in the same bar brawl as Phil and Nick, even if her impressive combat skills had definitely helped them out.  Phil hadn’t even _known_ it was possibly to do what she had with a lemon wedge.  Melinda was currently sitting in the opposite corner of the cell to Phil, leaning back against the wall and seemingly unconcerned about her recent arrest.  Phil wished he could be that calm about the situation.

Before Phil could think of any other creative punishments to threaten Nick with, he heard the sounds of someone unlocking the door to the cells.  Wincing, he rose to his feet, determined not to meet whatever dressing down he was about to endure while sitting down.  A minute later, one of the deputies led an amused looking Maria Hill up to their cell.  “Well,” Maria greeted.  “This is something, isn’t it?”

Phil shrugged a little sheepishly, knowing Maria was probably going to use this moment as blackmail when she next needed a favour.  “It’s all Nick’s fault,” he said.

“I resent that,” Nick grumbled, swinging his feet over the side of the bed.  “Are you here to bust us out of here, Hill?”

“Coulson and May, yes,” Maria replied with a faint smirk.  “You, I’m still not so sure about.”

Nick snorted, but didn’t stand up.  “If we’re taking a vote,” Phil said dryly, “I agree with leaving Nick here.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Nick grumbled.

Phil scowled back at his old friend.  “All I wanted was _one_ quiet drink and yet I somehow ended up almost getting my ribs broken.   _Again_ ,” he shot back.

“You could have avoided that,” Melinda pointed out a second later, silently appearing next to Phil.

“I… what?” Phil blinked, turning to face her.

“The ribs,” Melinda explained.  “You could have avoided that.  You had about six weapons you could have used right next to you.”  She arched an eyebrow at him.  “You just have to stop thinking so much like a soldier.  Weapons don’t have to be sharp or pointy to be useful, you know.”

Raising his eyebrows, Phil blinked at her for a moment.  “You mean, like a lemon wedge?” he asked, because he _really_ wanted to know how she’d done that.

Melinda smirked.  “Like a lemon wedge,” she agreed.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider teaching me that, would you?” Phil asked hopefully, with his most encouraging smile.  “Assuming Maria lets us get out of here?”

The look Melinda sent him was appraising, but after a long moment, she nodded.  “Okay,” she agreed.

Phil grinned.

“Oh, hell no!” Nick said.  “You do not need to give this man lessons in being even _more_ dangerous than he already is.”

Maria raised an eyebrow and Phil shrugged, wincing when the movement hurt his ribs.  “I still maintain I wouldn’t have to hide trackers in Nick’s stuff if he actually told me when he was going to do stupid things,” he explained.  “So… what’s it going to cost me to get out of here?”

“You’re lucky,” Maria replied with a smile as the deputy moved to unlock the cell door.  “It’s not actually going to cost you anything.  Peggy pulled a few strings, so you shouldn’t actually get into much trouble for this.  Plus, your arrest records have mysteriously vanished.”

Phil blinked, a rush of gratitude going through him.  “Thank you,” he said.

Maria rolled her eyes.  “Don’t thank me, I wanted to let you sweat in here a bit longer.  Peggy, however, has a soft spot for you,” she said, but the amusement in her eyes was teasing rather than malicious.  “She also said to tell you that she’s trained you better than this, so next time you get locked up, you’re on your own.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Phil said dryly as he happily stepped out of the cell.

“You do that,” Maria replied with the trace of a smirk.  “Come on, transport’s waiting.  And you’re buying me a coffee before we hit the road.”

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

3\.  Agent Coulson never loses his calm

“Coulson, Fury, are you both in position?”

Maria Hill’s familiar voice crackled over the comm, but Phil ignored her for the moment, concentrating on holding himself steady as he repelled down the sheer, rocky cliff.  Five seconds later, his boots hit the snow with a quiet crunch and he expertly unhooked his harness from the rope.  Leaving the rope dangling where it was, Phil immediately scanned the dark shadows around him for movement, his hands hovering over his weapons, but he appeared to be alone.  The narrow ledge he’d landed on was only covered with a few scraggly bushes and a thick layer of white snow that reflected dimly even in the darkness of the almost moonless night.

Phil’s breath clouded in the frigid cold and not even the specialised bodysuit he was wearing underneath his combat gear was enough to keep the chill of the Kazakhstani night from sinking into his bones.  He didn’t move when Nick hit the ground beside him about ten seconds later.  “We’re boots down and holding,” Phil finally replied to Maria, the comms easily picking up his soft voice.

Raising a pair of night vision binoculars to his eyes, Phil resisted the urge to look for the other members of his team hidden among the shadows of the night and make sure they were safe.  He knew he wouldn’t find them -- like Phil, they were all too well trained to be easily spotted.  Instead, Phil crouched down as close to the edge of the ledge as he dared and turned his attention to the target of their mission.  Painted in varying shades of green through his binoculars, the sprawling compound below lay nestle among the thick snow on the valley floor.  Even from this distance, Phil could see it was as heavily guarded as they’d been told it would be.  Phil’s eyes picked up two separate patrols guarding the western edge of the main building, all heavily armed, although the guards appeared to be relaxed enough not to have their hands on their weapons.

“We have eyes on you now,” Maria said and Phil knew she’d be watching them carefully via the satellite feed of the area.  “Hold position while we confirm targets are inside the compound.”

“Copy that,” Nick replied, settling in beside Phil to wait.

Phil’s team was in Kazakhstan to rescue the remains of a junior agent team that had been sent in to investigate a weapons supplier codenamed Cyrus, who was rumoured to be able to get his hands on some very unusual weaponry -- only the junior agents had been kidnapped by Cyrus’ organisation before they could report in.  Intel suggest that all six of the agents were still alive while Cyrus tried to figure out what to do with them, but the mission had been deemed dangerous enough that Phil’s team had been sent in to handle the mess, because apparently Phil and Nick had proved themselves good at this sort of thing.

“Didn’t intel suggest there should be at least ten guards down there?” Clint Barton muttered, “because I’m only counting four and considering one of them just dropped his gun while trying to take a piss, I don’t really see this as the challenge I was promised.”

Barton was SHIELD’s newest acquisition, a sniper with incredible aim and the unparalleled ability to piss Nick Fury off by being a mouthy little shit.  Phil was almost impressed -- usually he was the only one who mouthed off to Nick instead of following orders, mainly because he could use their years of friendship to get away with it, but Barton seemed to be trying his hardest to get Nick to shoot him in the ass.

Which of course, Phil would be required to clean up, because that’s how things worked.

“I’ve got two guards north-west of the main building in my sights,” Melinda May -- the fourth and final member of Phil’s team -- replied succinctly over the comm.  “No signs of any other patrols on this end, either.”

Nick let out a frustrated sigh, clearly conveying his irritation to the entire team, despite the fact that only Phil could see him.  “Are we sure this is the right place?” he asked.

Phil barely resisted rolling his eyes.  “These are the coordinates we were given,” he replied mildly.

“It took us two days to trek here because for some reason we couldn’t get a ride in a ‘jet or a chopper or any other mode of mechanised transport,” Barton griped.  “This better be the fucking right place.”

Returning the binoculars to his belt, Phil tried to ignore the jibing and did a final check on his weapons.  Barton was exaggerating slightly, but he wasn’t wrong -- the whole team had been dropped at the safehouse two days ago to prep and they’d had to trudge for over six hours to through the snow and cold to get close enough to the compound because Cyrus had agents in every village, shack and road junction in a ten mile radius.  Getting into position without being seen had been difficult and everyone was starting to lose patience.  Phil could sympathise -- he wanted the mission over so he could go home and not have to deal with Nick’s increasingly sour mood and the way Barton was needling him, because apparently Barton had been born without a survival instinct and needed to make everyone else as miserable as he was.

“Barton, cram it before I make you,” Nick snapped.

Phil sighed.  He’d _known_ this would happen.  

“Why don’t you make me?” Barton grumbled.

“Why don’t _both_ of you shut up?” Phil suggested, arching an eyebrow when Nick turned a grumpy scowl in his direction, because any effect Nick’s glower had had one him had worn off in their many years serving together as Rangers.  “Before I have to separate you like children?”

Over the comms, Maria snorted with amusement.  “Maintain visual and hold position,” she ordered.  “I’ll let you know as soon as have Cyrus’ location.”

“Sure,” Barton drawled.  “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Settling down to wait, Phil kept watch on the compound and lost himself to the familiar rhythm of the mission.  Memorising the patterns of the guards below, Phil carefully matched the layout of the compound with the schematics they’d studied and tried to ignore the way the cold was seeping through his clothes the longer he stayed crouched in the snow.  The edge of adrenaline wasn’t helping and Phil could feel the itch underneath his skin to _do something_.  He didn’t think he was the only one either, judging by the way Nick kept shifting his shoulders.

“This is taking too long,” Nick said in a low voice about ten minutes later, his gaze fixed on the compound below.

Phil frowned, knowing exactly what that particular expression on Nick’s face meant.  “Hold position,” he hissed.  “We need to make sure the junior agents are in there before we do anything.”

Dropping the last set of ropes from his shoulder, Nick began expertly securing them to a nearby rock outcropping.  Phil scowled at him.  “No.   _No._  You are not doing this.  Nick, don’t you dare…” he snapped, trying to keep his voice low.

Nick just glared back at him.  “Cheese, you know as well as I do that if we wait much longer Cyrus and his goons are going to move their prisoners and we’ll never see those junior agents again,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean you have to launch a one man assault on the whole compound!” Phil shot back.

Clipping the rope into his harness with deft movements, Nick looked up with a grave expression.  “Rangers don’t leave men behind,” he said.

Phil cursed.  He knew -- and Nick knew -- that Nick had him.  No matter what SHIELD training they put him through, Phil would always be a Ranger at heart and he couldn’t leave the junior agents at the mercy of Cyrus any more than Nick could.  “I hate you,” he growled at Nick, but nevertheless started checking his gun was snug in his holster and his spare clips were in the pockets of his combat vest.

Grinning, Nick leapt backwards over the edge, confident that Phil would follow him -- but then Phil always had.  Still muttering curses to himself, Phil tied off his own rope and prepared to follow Nick into a situation that Phil just _knew_ held a very large chance of getting shot.  “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Melinda asked a beat later.

“Nick is determined to get his damn ass shot off so he’s currently attempting a frontal assault on the large, heavily fortified enemy compound against orders,” Phil replied, still pissed off about the whole thing.  “So I’m going to have to risk my ass -- like _always_ \-- and go after him so someone can watch his back.”

“And here I was thinking _I_ was the one who was constantly disregarding orders,” Barton replied, a thread of amusement in his tone.  “By the way, did neither of you think it was a smart idea to tell your sniper your plan?”

Phil snorted.  “Calling it a plan is giving it way too much credit,” he said.

“I’ll be on the ground in thirty seconds,” Melinda said.

“Right behind you,” Phil confirmed.

Repelling to the valley as fast as he dared, Phil felt the heat on his palms even through his gloves as he sped down the rope, but with the ability of long practice, he controlled his descent with ease.  Half a minute later, his boots hit the thicker snow of the valley floor with a solid crunch.  “I’m on the ground,” he reported, unhooking his harness again.

Drawing his gun, Phil scanned the darkness around him, but no one had appeared to noticed his descent.  Creeping forward, he followed Nick’s footsteps in the snow, heading to the dark shape of one of the outer buildings of the compound and making sure to keep in the shadows.  Even though there was just enough light for Phil to pick his way through the snow, he still unhooked his night vision binoculars again to scan for a guard patrol or anything else he might have missed from above.  He caught a glimpse of movement nearby and pivoted in surprise, but it was just Melinda.  Phil smiled as she rolled her eyes, before giving him a sharp series of hand signals.

 _Still see only two guards_.

Melinda was dressed in combat gear just like Phil was, her long dark hair covered by a beanie and her gaze shifting over the darkness with deep suspicion.  Keeping low, Phil drew on all of his skill, his booted feel almost silent as he crossed the space between buildings.  Dropping into a crouch when he spotted the light of a torch in the distance, Phil ducked behind a stack of snow covered crates and caught Melinda’s attention with another series of hand signals.   _Movement to the left.  Ten o’clock._

Phil watched the guard patrol carefully, noting these two men were different from the two he’d spotted from above.  Phil felt a twinge of relief even as he grimaced at the thought of having to get past more patrols -- their intel hadn’t been so wrong after all.  It was a good sign.  Holding his position until the two guards turned around the corner of a nearby building, Phil rose from his crouch and scanned the dark for any other signs of light or movement.  “We’ve got eight men on the ground,” Phil reported quietly, his voice little more than a breath.  “Roving patrols, but not alert.”

“I see them,” Barton agreed.  “They’ve got the ground pretty well covered.  I can’t see any easy ways through.”

“What about Fury?” Phil asked.  “Since the ass hasn’t bothered to check in with the rest of us.”

“Negative,” Barton replied.  “Wait… hang on.  I see movement.  To your left.”

Following Barton’s direction, Phil scanned left with his binoculars, but the only thing he could see was a snow covered outbuilding.  Blinking as his mind raced back to the schematics he’d memorised before they’d arrived, Phil tried to figure out where Nick could have gone.  He winced a little when he spotted the nearby guard tower with the far more alert sentry atop it -- that would be hard to sneak passed.  “Goddammit, Nick,” he muttered.

“I’m busy, Cheese.  Shut it,” Nick growled back over the comms.

A second later, a long stream of curses cut off anything else Phil was going to say.  He felt his eyebrows rise as his brain translated the rough mixture of Russian and Estonian.  Barton knew an impressive amount of swear words.  “I’ve got movement just west of your position, Coulson,” he growled.

“Who is it?” Phil asked immediately, scanning the darkness with his binoculars and picking up five people moving towards the biggest building on the lot.

At least one of the figures was being dragged, almost unconscious between two of the others and even from this distance could see the gun being trained on a second.  “Sitwell and Amadour,” Phil said recognising two of the junior agents they’d been sent in to rescue.

“So what are we going to do?” Barton asked softly, a moment later.

“Hit them hard and fast,” Melinda answered softly.  “Get our people back.”

Before they could formulate any more of a plan than that, the whole compound was rocked by a giant explosion.  Ducking down again, Phil squeezed his eyes shut and lifted an arm to cover his face as the entire area was lit up by a giant fireball.  Phil was close enough that the shockwave punched the breath out of him and sent him sprawling into the snow, despite his best attempts to find cover.

“Jesus,” Barton cursed.  “Are you guys all okay?”

“Fine,” Phil said through gritted teeth, feeling the last of his control holding back his temper snap.  “Nick, when I find you, I swear to God I am going to _kick your fucking ass_.”

Men began streaming out of the main building to see what was going on, some brandishing AK-47’s and a few of them actually stumbling into the others as they tried to avoid the pieces of hot metal now falling from the sky.  Phil grimaced as he lost sight of Sitwell and Amadour in the resulting chaos, before glancing over at Melinda and nodding once.  Leading with his gun, Phil rose from his hiding place and began taking out the guards, even as Melinda did the same and between the two of them they shot six before the guards returned fire.  Taking cover behind a metal drum, Phil huffed out what might have been a laugh as three arrows went flying towards the guards before Barton dropped down beside him.

“Hey, Coulson,” Barton greeted with an adrenaline-fuelled grin.  “I thought you could use a hand down here.”

“What I could use,” Phil replied, “is a damn vacation.”

Rising to his feet, Phil slipped out from behind cover to find Melinda taking out the last of the guards.  “Clear,” she said, her eyes still scanning the darkness warily.

With a nod, Phil moved to one side of the now empty doorway as Phil moved to the other, before slipping through the door, guns at the ready.  However, even knowing Nick had beaten them inside and caused the explosion that had rocked the compound hadn’t prepared Phil for the sight that greeted him.  If Phil had to describe it, he would have said outright destruction.  Bodies lay strewn across the floor, the bullet wounds suggesting it hadn’t been the explosion that had killed them and Nick was standing in the middle of it all, calmly sliding another clip into his gun.

“About time you got here, Cheese,” he greeted with a sharp grin.

For a minute, all Phil could do was gape at him incredulously.  “When I write my mission report, I am blaming you for everything,” Phil declared, glaring at Nick.  “ _Everything_.”

Nick shrugged unrepentantly.  “The junior agents are downstairs,” he said.

Phil huffed.  Beside him, Barton gave him a curious glance before turning to Nick.  “Is there another way in?” he asked, nodding towards the obvious stairs in the corner of the room, guessing as much as Phil had there was a reason Nick had yet to head down.

“The vents,” Phil replied, bringing up the compound blueprints in his mind.  “I don’t know where the closest entrance point is, though.”

Barton grinned.  “Oh, leave that to me, Coulson,” he said.  “I’ll let you know when I’m in position.”

“I’ll go with him,” Melinda said, slipping after Barton’s retreating shadow on silent feet.

Phil nodded, even though neither Barton nor Melinda could see it, before fixing Nick with a sharp glare.  Waving Phil forward, Nick headed straight for the stairs.  The compound itself descended several floors underground and Phil knew the stairs went down a lot further than just to the basement.  Phil tried to keep his movements as quiet as possible as he followed Nick down the dark, metal stairs, the thick concrete walls around them proving the compound was more than it appeared at the surface.  Several minutes later, Barton whispered that he was in position and about ten seconds after that, Nick and Phil hit the base of the stairs.  Ahead of them, a long, concrete corridor extended forwards, several doors set into the walls on either side.

“Found the junior agents,” Barton breathed.  “Third door on your right.”

“Copy that,” Phil whispered back.

Taking a position on one side of the open door, Phil nodded once to Nick.  “Ready?” Nick asked.

“Ready,” Barton confirmed quietly.

Raising his gun, Nick shot the wood surrounding the door’s lock twice, before raising his boot and giving it a hard kick.  The door crashed open with a bang as Nick pivoted out of the way, before Phil surged forwards, his own gun held in front of him.  He barely had a moment to take in the scene in front of him, before he saw two arrows take out the goons on either side of a slumped figure.  Diving to his left to avoid a sudden burst of gunfire, Phil pushed himself back onto his feet and shot two thugs, Nick automatically guarding his back.  Barton and Melinda dropped out of the ceiling a second later, just in time for the bound figure of Jasper Sitwell kneeling in the floor to surge to his feet and head-butt the remaining goon right in the face.  Phil couldn’t help but respect that.

Another nasty kick to the stomach had the goon stumbling backwards, where Melinda used the butt of her gun to knock him out.  Then she drew a knife to cut Sitwell free of the ropes binding his wrists.  Beyond Sitwell, Phil could see the remaining junior agents huddled in the corner, Akela Amadour crouched in front of them protectively.

“Okay,” Sitwell said in a hoarse voice, breaking the silence that had fallen.  “Where the hell did you come from?”

From where he’d moved to cover the door, Barton glanced over with a look that said _what kind of stupid question is that?_  When he opened his mouth, Phil immediately cut him off.  “Don’t even think about it, Barton,” he said.

“We should get out of here,” Melinda said, taking position opposite Barton.

“Good idea,” Nick agreed.  “I need to check-in with HQ before Cheese lights me on fire with power of his glare anyway.”

Barton flashed Phil a grin as Phil moved to take the lead on the way back out.  “Not even giving Fury points for style, sir?” he asked.

Phil huffed.  “No,” he replied.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

4\.  Agent Coulson always follows protocol

Slipping inside the _Dark Horse_ , Phil scanned the late night crowd for the familiar face he’d come to meet.  If he was honest, Phil would have rather been sleeping, but being asked for a favour by Nick Fury wasn’t exactly an everyday experience, so Phil had shaken off his exhaustion and headed out to their old bar.  The fact that Nick has asked to meet there instead of at the SHIELD offices intrigued Phil as much as it made him wary.  Phil already knew he’d probably end up doing what Nick needed -- Nick’s favours usually came with a very high risk of being shot, but they were always important and Nick never forgot what he owed people.  When he spotted Nick in the back corner of the bar, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes and Melinda May sitting with him, Phil inwardly raised an eyebrow and walked over.  Rhodey was nursing what looked like a glass of scotch, so whatever Nick wanted was _big_.

Sliding onto the bench seat next to Rhodey, Phil let his arched eyebrow show on his face when Nick wordlessly passed him his own glass of scotch.  Taking a sip, Phil felt his other eyebrow climb up to join the first at the taste of twenty year single malt -- an appreciation that had taken Nick the last ten years to instill in him.  “I’m going to end up getting shot, aren’t I?” he said flatly.

Nick’s lips twitched as if he wanted to smile.  “Just hear me out,” he replied.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Phil said.

Nick let out a slow breath.  “We’ve had a development in the Black Widow situation,” he said levelly.

Phil blinked, immediately going over everything he knew about the Black Widow, aka Natalia Romanova.  Phil knew she was a highly skilled Russian assassin, rumoured to have been associated with the Red Room and wanted by many different organisation, not just SHIELD.  Phil didn’t know how many of her reported kills were actually hers, but he did know enough to know that he was dangerous -- and that he still wasn’t sure what Nick Fury’s ultimate plan involving her was yet.  Nick had become even more inscrutable ever since he’d been promoted to Director of SHIELD.  “I thought we lost her trail somewhere in Malaysia?” Phil said.

“We did,” Nick agreed.  “She’s popped up on our the radar in Budapest again, but that’s not the problem.”

Narrowing his eyes a little, Phil frowned.  “Then what _is_ the problem?” he asked.

“Barton,” Nick said flatly.  “He’s gone off grid to go and retrieve her.”

Phil cursed under his breath and resisted the urge to run a hand over his face.  “I was only gone for _three days_ ,” he muttered, before fixing Nick with a sharp look.  “By retrieve her, I assume you actually mean Barton’s gone to recruit her?”

“I might mean that, yes,” Nick replied.

Phil sighed, his mind already conjuring nightmare scenarios of what chaos a combination of Barton and the Black Widow would unleash.  “So why doesn’t SHIELD just sent in an extraction team?” Phil asked, before leaning back in his seat and meeting Nick’s gaze levelly.  “I’m assuming it has something to do with the same reason we’re not having this conversation in your office?”

Nick grimaced.  “Well, that’s where things get complicated,” he said.  “The World Security Council would prefer if the Black Widow didn’t become a SHIELD asset.  As a result, officially, SHIELD can’t send a team to extract the Black Widow -- or Barton -- from Budapest.”

Letting out a long breath, Phil arched an eyebrow.  “And how bad is the trouble Barton has gotten himself into?”

“He and the Widow are currently on the run from several ex-KGB agents that want the Black Widow dead, some Russian mobsters they’ve apparently pissed off and the operatives the WSC sent in to Hungary to apprehend them both before SHIELD could,” Nick answered.

Rhodey let out a low whistle.  “Barton really doesn’t do things by halves, does he?”

Melinda snorted.  “You have no idea,” she replied dryly.

“So,” Phil said, looking straight at Nick.  “Just to be clear, you need me to defy a direct order from the WSC, illegally enter Budapest, find Barton and somehow convince the Black Widow to join SHIELD, all while avoiding being caught by the ex-KGB agents, Russian mobsters and WSC operatives gunning for us?”

“That about sums it up,” Nick said.

Phil let out a breath and took a sip of scotch.  “Okay,” he agreed.

“Okay?” Rhodey echoed, looking incredulous.

Phil nodded.  “Yeah.  I’ll do it,” he said, before glancing at Nick again and nodding his head towards Rhodey.  “I assume Rhodey and May will be along to help?”

“Rhodey can get you over the border and I thought you’d appreciate having someone to watch your back until you can find Barton,” Nick replied.

“When do you need me to leave?” Phil asked.

Rhodey snorted.  “You know, Cheese, I would have tried holding out a little longer,” he said.  “Maybe get Nick to owe you something for once.”

Phil arched an eyebrow.  “What makes you think he doesn’t?” he said.  “Besides, Nick knows my demands.”

“Cheese,” Nick said flatly.

“Nick,” Phil replied, matching Nick’s tone and meeting his glare with a mild stare.

Nick sighed.  “Fine, asshole,” he conceded.  “I’ll have Sitwell report to you before your flight out in the morning.”

Melinda eyed him curiously.  “Out of everything you could have asked for, you asked for Jasper?” she asked.

“I like Jasper’s perspective on things,” Phil said.

Nick huffed.  “He also likes being a contrary bastard.”

Phil shrugged and drank another sip of whiskey.  “You can stop pretending that sending Jasper with us wasn’t half your master plan now,” he said, fixing Nick with a pointed look.

Rhodey shook his head.  “I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I forget just how sneaky you two are.”

Nick and Phil smirked at him.  Then Nick pulled a phone out of his pocket and slid it across the scarred tabletop.  “I expect you to check in the second you have something,” he told Phil.

Phil nodded.  “You got it, Boss.”

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

5\.  Agent Coulson knows everything

“Come on, Phil,” Natasha Romanoff said, curling her arm around Phil’s and dragging them deeper into the market.  For once, Phil was enjoying a few days off in rather than having to worry about all the details of an ongoing mission.  He, Natasha, Clint and Jasper had gotten a week’s downtime in Hong Kong after spending most of the last two months shutting down several HYDRA cells operating across Southeast Asia.  Phil was grateful for the break -- they were exhausted and a chance to relax was something they all needed.  Even if Natasha had grabbed Phil to drag him out shopping at her first opportunity.

That had been one of the surprising things following Budapest and the formation of Strike Team Delta.  Phil had tried very hard to prove to the Black Widow that she could trust him, because Phil couldn’t be her handler in the field without that, but he’d never expected to gain Natasha’s friendship too.  Yet, somewhere between Clint jumping off Sears Tower and Phil baking his mother’s lucky scones in the safehouse in Botswana, he and Natasha had become close friends.  It was different to the relationship she shared with Clint, which was more like siblings than anything else, and Phil treasured it.

All around them, the air of the Temple Street Market was filled with the sounds of several languages as well as the enticing smell of food from the open air restaurants that seemed to explode out of the sidewalks as soon as the sun went down.  “Okay, gossip time,” Natasha said, leaning close as they fluidly dodged around a rowdy group of tourists.  Her hair was softly curling around her face in the humidity and she had one hand curled around her purse, while Phil carried most of her shopping, because Phil had been raised a gentleman -- and also Natasha was very sneaky at getting him to do that.  “Have you been out on any dates lately?”

Phil arched an eyebrow at her.  “Why does the gossip have to involve _my_ dating life -- or lack of one?” he asked.

Natasha shrugged, tugging him into a stall selling a variety of clothing.  “It’s what friends do, isn’t it?” she replied.

She pulled a flowing, white top off a rack and held it up.  Phil hummed and nodded, because the top would look stunning with Natasha’s colouring.  “Friends do talk about that,” Phil agreed aloud, “but you’ve been my friend for long enough to know I don’t date, Tash.”

Shrugging, Natasha eyed a turquoise summer dress, before glancing at Phil over her shoulder.  “It’s been more than a month since we’ve had a chance to talk about anything other than mission details,” she said, flashing Phil an impish smile.  “How do I know you haven’t recently found a hot piece of ass?”

Phil sent her a pointed look.  “Firstly, you have been hanging out with Barton far too much,” he said.  “And secondly, for the last month we’ve been on a mission.  When exactly was I supposed to get the chance?”

Laughing, Natasha held out the white top and turquoise dress for Phil to hold as she kept browsing.  “So why aren’t you dating anyone then?” she asked.

Sighing, Phil followed her as she wandered deeper into the tiny stall.  “You know why,” he said quietly.  “I’m not exactly the kind of guy most people look twice at.”

Natasha turned to him with an arched eyebrow.  “What about Suzie from Requisitions?” she said.  “She’s had a crush on you for almost as long as I’ve been at SHIELD.”

“Oh, she does not,” Phil replied.

“She _does_ ,” Natasha insisted.  “And then there’s Jacob from R&D.”

Phil frowned at her.  “Now you’re just making things up,” he said flatly.

“I most certainly am not.  Phil, they flirt with you _every time_ they see you,” Natasha replied, sounding more than a little exasperated.

“They’re only being friendly,” Phil said, ignoring the bolt of uncertainty that went through him.

Both eyebrows raised in surprise, Natasha stared at him.  “They flirt.  Constantly,” she said.  “And they’re not the only ones, either.  Woo tried flirting with you during the entire mission to Lima, and I’m not even going to mention you and Clint, which really is bordering on the embarrassing now.”

Phil blinked at her and then frowned.  “Tasha, what are you talking about?  Clint does not flirt with me.  At least, no more than he flirts with everyone.”

For a moment, Natasha was speechless.  “Are you being serious?” she asked.  “I thought you just weren’t interested in complicating things with anything more, but…” she trailed off and searched his face.  “You have _no idea_ , do you?”

Phil’s frown deepened.  “No idea about what?”

“Clint,” Natasha said.

“What about Clint?” Phil asked, immediately worried.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha punched him in the arm.  “ _Phil_ ,” she said.  “Clint is _in love_ with you.”

Phil felt his jaw drop.  “Wait… _what_?” he said, his voice coming out kind of strangled.

Over the last few years, Phil had gotten used to the idea that he was irrevocably and completely in love with his asset -- and had just as long to realise that there was very little chance that Clint would ever return his feelings.  Clint was amazing, talented and gorgeous.  Phil was… Phil.  However, as he blinked at Natasha, Phil was beginning to feel he might have miscalculated a little in his assumptions.  Natasha rolled her eyes again.  “Come on,” she told him as she paid for her clothes, barely even pausing to haggle.

Phil, still reeling from the shock that Clint _was in love with him, holy shit_ , followed Natasha as she pulled him on a fast and determined path through the crowd.  “Tasha,” he began, only to have Natasha suddenly shove him sideways.

A second later, Phil crashed into what felt like a warm wall of muscle.  Hands came up to steady him and Phil automatically opened his mouth to apologise, only to feel the words die in his throat when he realised exactly who it was that Natasha had shoved him into.

Clint.

Instinctively, Phil battled the surge of lust that slammed into his stomach every time he saw Clint.  It had been like that ever since Phil had walked into their first shared mission briefing to find Clint slumped down in his chair, boots on the table and coffee mug gathered tight against his chest as if someone might steal it, as he watched the rest of the room with a rebellious scowl.  With his scruffy, dark blond hair, tight black t-shirt and insanely muscular arms, he’d been gorgeous -- and the years had only improved him.  Of course, it wasn’t just Clint’s looks that Phil had noticed and fallen in love with.  Clint was stubborn and still harboured that smartass nature that loved to piss off Nick Fury, but he was also loyal to a fault, willing to put himself in danger to save someone else without even hesitating and surprisingly sweet and thoughtful to those he cared about.  Combined with his skills as a sniper and the intelligence and sharply tactical brain he hid from the world and Phil had tripped and fallen for him a long time ago.

Today, clearly in deference to the heat, Clint wore a faded purple t-shirt that pulled tight across his broad shoulders and worn jeans that hugged his hips and strong legs -- and that caused Phil’s temperature to ratchet up in a way that had nothing to do with the humidity.  Clint’s amazingly multi-coloured eyes glinted blue and gold as he happily grinned at Phil, his mouth curved in the heart-stopping and lopsided grin he only ever seemed to flash at Phil.

…And perhaps Natasha had a point when she said Phil had been a little oblivious.

“Hey, Phil,” Clint greeted, removing his hands from Phil’s shoulders now that Phil was steady again.  Phil pretended he didn’t immediately miss the warmth of Clint’s touch.  “Enjoying the shopping?”

Behind Clint, Jasper wandered over in a truly garish orange shirt, eating some sort of unnamed meat off a stick.  Phil wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but it looked suspiciously scorpion-shaped.  “I’m surprised he’s not loaded down with more bags,” Jasper said with a teasing grin at Phil.  “Or off somewhere getting himself a new tailored suit.”

“We were just about to grab some dumplings and beer,” Clint invited.  “Want to join us?”

“He’d love to,” Natasha replied, before Phil could attempt to wrangle his tongue into forming actual words.  “Jasper and I can’t, however.  We have an appointment.”

Jasper frowned.  “We do?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes.  “We do,” she said firmly.

“Okay,” Jasper agreed quickly.  “Apparently we have an appointment.”

“You both have fun,” Natasha said, taking her shopping bags from Phil, even as she grabbed Jasper by the arm.  “Have a long chat.  Talk about everything you have _in common.”_ The last words were emphasised with a particularly pointed glare, before Natasha dragged Jasper into the crowd and disappeared.

“Is it just me, or is Nat being weirder than normal?” Clint said, eyes still on the spot where Natasha had vanished into the mass of tourists.

“Actually,” Phil said quietly, finally finding his ability to speak.  “That was Natasha losing her subtlety.”

Clint scrunched up his nose, the way he always did when he was confused.  Phil tried and failed -- as he always did -- not to find it endearing.  “What is she trying to lose subtlety about?” he asked.  “Did Jasper do something to annoy her?”

Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He was a grown man and he could do this.  “Is there somewhere quieter we could go to talk?” he asked.

“Ah… sure,” Clint replied, tensing slightly.  “Has something come up that needs our particular skill sets?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Phil said.  “I just…” He trailed off, not sure what to say that wouldn’t make things sound either far more serious than they were -- than Phil _hoped_ they were -- and that wouldn’t require an immediate explanation before they got away from the crowds of the market.

Clint, however, must have read some of what Phil felt on his face, because Clint bumped his shoulder and grinned.  “Hotel, then?” he suggested.

“Yeah,” Phil said gratefully.  “That would be good.”

They passed the short walk back to their hotel in companionable silence and without needing to say anything, Clint wordlessly followed Phil up to his room.  Phil tried to persuade his brain that taking Clint to his room involved completely innocent reasons, but his hands still shook faintly when he slid the keycard into the lock.  Phil’s hotel room was elegantly decorated in white and maroon, with dark-coloured woodwork covered in Chinese-esque designs.  A stunning view of Victoria Harbour beckoned outside the large windows, the skyscrapers lit up with lights and the water dark below, but no less busy than it had been during daylight.  There was a small sitting area and desk arranged in front of the large double bed that Phil was pointedly ignoring for the sake of his sanity.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Clint prompted when Phil stayed quiet.

Phil cleared his throat.  “It has recently come to my attention…” he started, before ruthlessly cutting himself off.  Could he sound any _more_ like he was giving a performance review?  He swallowed thickly.  “Clint…” he began again.  This was ridiculous.  His palms were sweating and his pulse was thundering so loudly in his ears it was a miracle Phil could hear anything else.

Clint stepped forward, concern in his eyes as they searched Phil’s face.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words before,” he said quietly.

Phil shut his eyes, because otherwise he was going to lean forward and kiss Clint and he needed to say this first -- he needed to know where he stood, not because Natasha had told him, but because _Clint_ had.  He opened his eyes again when he heard Clint step back.  “I’ve always considered us friends,” Phil tried again, hating how stilted and formal he sounded.

“Of course we are,” Clint said with that lopsided smile that always made Phil a little weak at the knees.  Then uncertainty flashed across Clint’s face for a second.  “Aren’t we?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Phil said firmly.  “Always.”

Clint’s grin widened and turned sweet at the edges.  “Okay,” he said.  “Is this one of those things where you ask for a favour that’s potentially embarrassing and I have to swear as a friend that I will never tell Jasper and let him tease you about it?”

“Ah, no,” Phil said, absently rubbing his damp palms on his slacks.  “Not exactly.”

“So what is it, Phil?” Clint asked gently, starting to look worried.

Taking a deep breath, Phil straightened his shoulders.  “I was wondering if you’d consider discussing the possibility of perhaps taking our relationship beyond friendship, maybe over dinner?”

Clint scrunched his nose again for a moment as he obviously tried to translate what Phil had actually meant.  It probably didn’t help that Phil had started stumbling over his own words towards the end of his question.  He tried to wait as patiently as he could, but Phil was pretty sure he’d just stopped breathing.

“Phil,” Clint said, more tentative than Phil had ever heard him before, a shy smile on his face and hope brightening his amazing eyes.  “Did you just ask me out on a date?”

Resisting the urge to fidget, Phil nodded.  “That was my intention, yes.”

“Because you have feelings for me?” Clint pressed, his smile becoming more confident as his sharp gaze read the storm of emotions Phil couldn’t keep off his face.

Phil shrugged helplessly.  “It’s more than just feelings,” he admitted.  “I’m ridiculously in love with you and have been for a long time.  I understand if you…”

Whatever Phil had been attempting to say was cut off when Clint surged forwards and crashed his lips to Phil’s.  The kiss was awkward for a moment, their noses bumping, before Phil gathered his wits enough to slide his hands up to cup Clint’s face and kiss back like his life depended on it.  Clint’s hands shifted to fist in the cotton of Phil’s shirt, his mouth opening under Phil’s with a soft sound as the kiss turned hot and fierce.

“Oh my God,” Clint growled when he finally pulled back to pant against Phil’s lips.  “How do you not know how I feel about you, Phil?  I thought I was being totally obvious about the whole thing.  Even Jasper knows.”

Phil felt his cheeks flush.  “I, ah…” he said.

Clint laughed, a bright, happy sound.  “I’m beginning to really like this version of you, I think,” he teased, before he leaned forward for another kiss.

“Just to be clear,” Phil said, a little breathless as he felt Clint begin maneuvering him towards the bed.  “That was a yes to the date?”

For a moment, Clint rested his forehead against Phil’s.  “Just to be clear,” he replied seriously.  “I’m in love with you too, Phil.”

“Okay,” Phil said, grabbing Clint by the front of the shirt as Clint sent him sprawling across the thick mattress of the hotel bed.  “Good.”

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

+1.  Agent Coulson doesn’t actually survive on donuts and coffee

(but Clint does)

If the junior agents could see Phil now, they’d never believe it.  He’d mostly stopped paying attention to the rumours years ago, but occasionally Jasper mentioned one that amused him or Maria dropped one into the conversation.  Phil was well aware of how he was supposed to be SHIELD’s perfect agent, a man born in a suit with no sense of humour who lived on donuts and coffee and the misery of junior agents.  He was happy keeping his private life private and the people who mattered knew the truth.

Clint Barton, on the other hand, was a man who liked living up to the rumours that surrounded him.  Not that the junior agents were around to see that this particular rumour was true.

Biting back a soft chuckle, Phil leaned against the kitchen doorway and indulged in watching his husband for a moment.  They were both revelling in a rare day off together and even though it was already noon, they’d only just dragged themselves out of bed.  As usual, while Phil had headed for a shower, Clint had dragged himself into the kitchen in search of coffee.  Clad only in his favourite boxers with the purple targets on them, Clint was now sitting cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen bench, drinking straight from the coffee pot in a habit Phil had yet to break.  His hair was standing up at adorably messy angles and there was an open packet of powdered donuts sitting next to him.

“You know, civilised people drink coffee out of mugs,” Phil said finally.

“Well, when you find a coffee mug as big as the pot, I’ll drink out of that,” Clint grumbled.  Then, in apology, he held out the packet of donuts.  “Donut?”

Phil shook his head and tried to fight a smile.  “Clint, I’m not eating that much processed sugar for breakfast.”

Shrugging, Clint crammed half a donut into his mouth.  “So wh’t ‘re you mak’ng?” he said, his mouth full.

Reaching around his husband as he rolled his eyes, Phil grabbed one of the mugs out of the cupboard above Clint’s left shoulder.  As always, Clint put down the coffee pot to grab hold of Phil’s t-shirt before Phil could step back.  He tugged Phil in as he shifted, legs sliding to hang down on either side of Phil’s hips.  “Hey,” Clint said softly and Phil leaned forward to give him a brief kiss, thwarted from brewing his morning cup of tea for a minute.

“Hey,” Phil replied, before he let his eyes trail down Clint’s naked chest.  “You’re covered in powdered sugar again.”

Clint grinned and waggled his eyebrows.  “You could always lick it off for me,” he said, before shoving the remainder of his donut in his mouth.

“Charming,” Phil replied dryly, before poking Clint’s thigh in an effort to get him off the bench.  “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Whichever option comes with bacon,” Clint replied.

After pouring himself a cup of tea and poking Clint a few more times to actually get him to move, Phil started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.  “How about scrambled eggs?” he called out to Clint, who’d disappeared back into their bedroom to hopefully find a t-shirt.

Not that Phil usually minded when Clint walked around half-naked -- in fact, it was usually the opposite.  Only right now, Phil was hungry and he wasn’t about to let Clint distract him from breakfast.  Again.

“Scrambled eggs sound good,” Clint agreed, padding up behind Phil like an overgrown cat and winding his arms around Phil’s waist.  “Can you put peppers and that green stuff in it again?”

Amused, Phil arched an eyebrow.  Clint wasn't known for his fondness for eating green things.  “You mean the flat-leaved parsley?” he said.

“Don’t give me that look,” Clint huffed.  “I eat vegetables!”

“Only when I distract you with bacon,” Phil replied.

He felt Clint grin against his neck as he nuzzled it.  “And sex.  Don’t forget the sex.”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “Is there anything else you want in your eggs?” he asked.

Clint hummed.  “Just cheese, if we have any,” he said.

Chuckling, Phil turned his head for a kiss.  “Okay, but you’re cooking the bacon,” he said.

“I can do that,” Clint replied, but made no move to actually unwind himself from Phil.  Grinning, Clint snatched another kiss, before dancing away as Phil swatted at him with the dishtowel.  “Hey, just remember,” Clint added.  “I’m being a good boy and eating my veggies, so you need to be a good boy and…”

Phil decided the only way to shut him up was with a kiss.

 ****  
Fin.  



End file.
